The Man in the Shadows
by TheManFromMudos
Summary: Jerome Yales is just a man like any other. He's been a DI in the police force for over 20 years, and now he's been assigned to a new case. Strange disappearances have been occurring in the area where Jerome lives, and he has to work out who's responsible. But, it isn't long before Jerome discovers that the culprit he's after isn't your average man...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

'_Running. Always running, from IT. From fear. We cannot face what scares us most, what brings us almost to tears. So we run from it. How foolish are we, to run? But I did. I ran._

_What had I seen, to make me run? It gets dark so quickly out here, you see. A relaxing woodland walk soon develops into a flee for dear life. And all because of fear. It was odd, what I'd seen. Well, more than odd. If you'd seen it, you'd have run. It was death, Satan himself in physical form. Oh god, why? Why does it want me? I pray, if anybody should read this note, escape while you can. Escape NOW or it will come for you. No one should suffer through what I have. He… It… That face._

_It's close now. I can feel it. The constant ringing, make it stop. MAKE IT STOP! It's going to find me. Find me and kill me. I'm not safe anymore. It's too late for me now.'_

A.S

Chapter 1

The familiar sound of a boiling kettle broke the silence of the kitchen. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, and the creak of an old, wooden door. A veiny, grey hand grasped at the kettle, and lifted it from it's stand. The hand then took the kettle to a plain, beige mug and poured the boiling liquid in. The mug was then lifted from the counter where it rested, leaving a rather annoying ring stain in it's place.

Jerome Yales was a middle–aged man, quite tall, with short, brown hair and dry, colourless lips. He lacked many distinguishing features, save for his unusually vibrant green eyes. Even the whites of them had an unnerving lime tint.

He sat down on his own, much as he had every day for many years past, and reached for the TV remote. He turned on his television set and changed it to the usual channel, TBT news. Trosking Broadcast Television was one of the few TV channels that Jerome liked. He'd always felt that the TBT news told everything as it was, no stretching the truth, no exaggeration. Also, he had a particular soft spot for their announcer, who sure enough greeted the audience as always.

"Good morning, and welcome to TBT news. On today's show: Syawliar and Swayrail's railway division announce that they will be disbanding the division's staff next year unless their deal with Ashbridge Co goes through. Troops in Murtland may finally be returning from Steb as soon as next week after the Steb army declared a surrender, 13 years into the war. And local boy James Stoker went missing last night, not three weeks after his father Alan was found dead."

It was here that Jerome changed the channel to something more… cheerful. He'd been at he Stoker household just last night, so he already new all too well what had happened.

He stood up and returned to the kitchen to poor away his coffee. Suddenly, he didn't feel so thirsty. He felt slightly nauseas, and his skin had become even more grey and colourless than it was already. He began to twitch, and his eyes lost their tint. Without hesitation, he collapsed to his knees and started to gasp for breath desperately. His windpipe was slowly closing up. He fumbled around madly in his pockets until he could not go on any more, and then fell silent on the floor.

When he came round, Jerome was lying in his dressing gown on the kitchen floor. He had no memory of how he had gotten there, or what had happened at all since he had woken up that morning. He slowly rose to his feet, and went to his answering machine, which was bearing a new message. He hesitantly pressed the button to listen to the message.

"Yales! I don't know what you're playing at, but I've been trying to reach your mobile all morning. You'd better get over to the Stoker residence immediately, unless of course you want to be off the force."

With a great sigh, Jerome dragged himself upstairs to get changed for work. He really wanted nothing more to do with the Stoker case, but it was his job, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As he buttoned his white shirt, Jerome glanced through the window of his bedroom. A tall man stood on the other side of the street, but he must have been facing away, as Jerome could not make out the bald man's face. He was wearing an awfully sharp looking dark suit, though, and as Jerome looked, the man walked away, without even turning his head. Jerome shrugged it off, though, and chuckled a little inside. He thought to himself, "That's odd. That fellow had his suit on backwards."

Not long after this event, Jerome was racing across town to the scene of the Stoker disappearance. He was reluctant to even go to work that day, so to lighten the mood, he turned on his radio. Oddly enough, all he could hear was static. Every station, static. Being up in the hills, the town didn't exactly have very good signal on any day. But today, it seemed worse. The signal had never been this bad before. And what was more, through the static, Jerome could hear a faint voice. Actually, he didn't hear it, it was more… subliminal. But his brain had registered it subconsciously.

A few minutes later, Jerome had reached the other side of town. He was just a few streets away from the Stoker household when he heard another noise from the radio. It was the same static, as well as the voice he had failed to recognise before. Only this time, he could here it. Quite clearly, in fact.

"_You are never alone. He is ALWAYS watching."_

The same feeling Jerome had felt this morning suddenly returned. He felt nauseas again, and his skin lost all colour. But this time, he was prepared. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out something which vaguely resembled a tablet. He placed it into his mouth and swallowed it quickly, before his windpipe had chance to swell. Regaining control almost instantly, he looked straight ahead. The Stoker household was barely thirty feet away, and directly in front of him. He braked furiously and slowed to a halt dead at the edge of the curb. A second more, and he could have plowed through the building.

Stepping out of his car, Jerome took a few sharp breaths and proceeded to the door of the house. Police tape covered the entire garden, and a small section of the woods behind the house. He tried the door, although it turned out to be locked.

"Yales. YALES! Where is he?" A short, round man stuck his head through the window of the house and turned to face Jerome. "DI Yales," he exclaimed, "where do you think you've been?"

"Sorry sir. Another attack." Jerome replied.

"Oh, I see." Said the short man. "Sorry to hear that. But anyway. You're still late. We've found this, come and take a look a it." He produced a piece of torn, weathered paper and showed it to Jerome. Jerome knew instantly what it was.

A short while later, Jerome was reading through the note. The last couple of lines were perhaps the most intriguing, saying that he wasn't safe, and that it was too late for him.

"Well, what do you think?" yelled the short tempered police chief.

"I'm not sure, sir. But it was definitely written by Alan Stoker." Replied Jerome. It seemed raher odd, though. Alan must clearly have gone insane before he wandered off into the woods. Judging by the wounds on his body, a mountain lion of some kind must have attacked him. But he hadn't been chased, and it certainly wasn't by Satan. That was what made it all the more odd, though. Alan had always been one of the most rational men you could have ever met. Why would he worry about such things as Satan in physical form?

Since his father had disappeared, James Stoker had been looked after by his older sister. She didn't speak much, but she'd managed to give a statement. Something about Alan acting strangely every now and then recently. Having random panic attacks and saying that he'd seen 'it' again. But what was 'it'? More clues were needed to shed some light. There was also the statement that James had given the day before he vanished. Up until then, he'd been too upset to talk about his father's disappearance. His statement had been handed to Jerome just half an hour ago when he began to read it.

'_Daddy said he was going to take a walk in the woods. I think he went to talk to that man again. I saw him about a month ago. It looked like he didn't have a face, but daddy said it was just my imagination. After about an hour, daddy still wasn't home, so Megan called the police. I don't know anything else.'_

This note was downright creepy, and Jerome knew it perfectly well. A man without a face? He picture the man in his head. For some reason, he imagined him being bald, and wearing a dark suit. Kind of like the man he'd seen wearing his suit backward that morning. Wait, What? The man he'd seen that morning, could it have been? It was. It was the man that James had seen. He would have to inform the chief.

"Faceless man? A mere coincidence. Clearly, you were just tired when you saw this bald guy earlier, and James isn't exactly a reliable source. I mean, he's only 7 years old, for god's sake."

"But chief…" Jerome was trying his best to convince the chief, but the stubborn man would have none of it.

"Look. Go home, Yales. Get some rest, and come back tomorrow. WITHOUT the crazy faceless guy theory." The chief had made up his mind. 'But maybe he was right', thought Jerome. 'Maybe I am just clutching at straws.'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The following morning was quite a dull one. The sky was grey, the rain drizzled slowly, and no birds flew across the sky. Jerome awoke at his usual hour and prepared for work much as usual. He realized that the chief's words were probably right. He couldn't simply link two events together purely because of coincidence. Although, it still seemed quite odd to him. After all, it wasn't everyday that he saw a faceless man.

After going to the door to collect the daily newspaper, Jerome sat down and began to read. Naturally, the news on Steb was still circulating, as was James Stoker's disappearance. Ashbridge Co had recently started yet another division, the science division, in association with Zephyr Inc, and some singer he'd never heard of had announced early retirement, but that was about it. So he put the newspaper down and set off to work.

Approaching the Stoker residence, Jerome hoped to himself that something would be found today. The sooner the case was cracked, the sooner he could wash his hands at the whole affair. However, he solemnly doubted that anything _would_ be found, and even if it was, it wouldn't really help much.

Looking out into the woods, Jerome realized that he had not seen many woodland animals at all lately, ever since Alan Stoker was found dead in the woods. Maybe the animals had simply been off put by the incident. All the same, perhaps the woods would be worth searching more thoroughly for evidence. He would have to report this to the chief.

At the Stoker residence, Jerome was silent for most of the day. Around noon, he told the chief that they should search the woods in more depth. The chief seemed to agree, and around 3pm, Jerome himself was chosen as one of the three people to investigate them. Reluctantly, he did so, and now here he was, in the woods. Even at this time of the day, the woods were incredibly dark, and all three of the policemen were carrying torches. Jerome insisted that they all stayed together, in case of an attack. After all, the killer might still be out here.

About an hour later, in the woods, Jerome was contemplating the idea that it really was _something,_ rather than _someone _that killed Alan Stoker. This train of thought was clearly not new to him, but it kept repeating itself in the corner of his mind every now and then. The other two policemen scarcely spoke, and so the three men walked along in silence. This made the deep shade of he trees even more spine-chilling, and hardly helped the matter at all.

For several drudging hours, the three men walked on, and at last they gave up. There was no evidence at all to be found in these woods. They turned slowly to head back to the Stoker household and proceeded once more in complete silence. It was here that Jerome noticed the first odd thing, a small scrap of red patterned cloth on the ground beneath his feet. He lifted it up high, and realized suddenly that it was not red at all, but green. It was the bloodstains that made it appear red.

Jerome knew at once that this was an important piece of evidence, and ran to catch up with the other police officers. It was then that he noticed the second thing, which was that he was no longer in the woods at all. He was by a river, which he instantly recognised as the River Malltop. He had been here before although quite some time ago. But how had he got here? Was it even possible? As he puzzled things out in his head, Jerome noticed the third and final thing, and that was the hand on his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When most people are afraid, they generally do one of two things. They turn and run, or are frozen completely stiff. Now, Jerome decided to neither of these things at this point, although when he spoke to the man behind him, he was all too fearful to turn and face him.

"So who are you, then? The chief won't believe that it was you who killed Alan, and most likely his son, too. And he certainly refuses to believe that I have seen a faceless man before. So tell me," Jerome said hoarsely, turning slowly around to face the tall figure, "who are you?"

As Jerome stared in complete disbelief at the sight before him, he heard the voice of the chief in the distance, and a police constable began to shake him by the shoulder.

"DI Yales, sir? Are you alright?" But Jerome could not speak a word. There before him, was nothing. He looked around frantically. Where was the river? Where was the man? H-How? He wasn't, he…

"Yales, I've had about enough of you babbling on about this 'faceless' man of yours. I mean look at you! Just half an hour ago, you thought you were talking to this guy at the side of the River Malltop, when in reality, you were just stood in Stoker's living room talking to yourself."

"But chief…" Jerome tried to explain desperately.

"But _nothing_. Yales, if I hear any more about this faceless guy, you're off the force. Now go home."

Once again, Jerome had managed to make himself look like a madman, and once again, he'd been sent home because of it. Nevertheless, he was determined to find out who this faceless man was. He knew he had seen him before; he just couldn't put his finger on where. As he pulled up to his driveway, though, one thing was certain; he would find out.

Stepping inside, he rushed upstairs to his room, and brought back downstairs with him a large, dusty photo album. He sat down with a fresh mug of coffee, and opened the great binder. He was sure that not only had he seen this mysterious 'faceless' man this morning, but he recalled seeing him before, albeit without even taking notice.

Upon opening the album, the first thing he noticed was that several photographs had been torn to shreds, and left in a plastic wallet at the very front of the binder. Slightly miffed by this, he decided to continue deeper into the album. It was here that he noticed something else. On the first 'page' was a photograph of him as a newborn, being held in the arms of a nurse. Not much about the hospital ward was noticeable, other than the view through the window. And what a view it was. The rolling hills behind the town, the sleepy little houses, and… and.

Jerome had to squint very carefully to see it clearly, but then again, why did he want to see it? Still, there in the background, in the hospital's barren car park, was a man. A tall man, in a dark suit. He was a bald man, with… with no facial features whatsoever.

Jerome had been out for a while when he regained consciousness. He recalled faintly hearing a voice in his head, before collapsing. Whatever this thing was, it didn't want Jerome to know about it. Still, the photo album was at least 5 inches thick, so Jerome had to get on.

Sitting back down in his seat, Jerome noticed that the image of the man in the car park on the day he was born now featured a red circle, around the man, or thing, itself. There was a neat cross through the circle as well; much like a symbol that Jerome felt he'd seen before.

Turning the page, Jerome noticed that there was another red circle and cross on the next photograph. And sure enough, it circled _him_ again. Jerome was slightly unnerved by the fact that he could not remember drawing either of these circles, but still he pressed on. It was on the next photo that Jerome became nervous.

On this photo, Jerome had been about 27, and it had been taken on his first day at the police training academy. On it was him and three young men who had all been his friends at the time. There was another man on the photo, though, less than a foot behind them. And I don't think you need to be told who it was.

Jerome wanted to stop now. He couldn't bare to continue on. But he had to, possibly for the sake of his own life. And as he flicked through the photo album, on every single photograph of him was a circle with a cross, around that same man. Again, and again, and again, the man getting closer each time. Until Jerome reached the last page in the album. A photo of him taken at the end of last month, for 20 years good service in the police force. On this photo, the circle and the cross were larger than ever before. They were around _him_.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Taken aback by what he'd just seen, Jerome had decided to get some sleep. He'd gone straight to bed without a wash, a cup of tea, or the book he'd been reading recently. No, on this particular night, he'd gone without hesitation. Now, he lay silently, hopelessly trying to get some sleep. But he couldn't. Every creak on the stairs made him dive under the bed sheets, every breeze outside the window. After about half an hour, he decided he would have to get up and make himself a hot drink.

In the kitchen, Jerome clicked the catch on his kettle and went to sit down in the living room. He lifted the remote from the table and turned the television on. Then, he went back to make his tea. Upon returning to his seat, Jerome noticed two peculiar things. The first was that it was actually quite light outside for this time of night. The second was that it was actually quite… late. In fact, it was 7:15 AM.

"Hello, and welcome to Trosking Broadcast Television News." Jerome spat his tea clean across the room. What did she just say? It was 10 at night, he was sure it was. He'd only been in bed for half an hour. Now what was going on? Well, he was about to find out.

Picking up the remote once again, Jerome changed the channel quickly. He was in no mood to listen to the news this morning. On the next channel was a documentary. Jerome was a fan of documentaries, so he sat and watched for a short while. The presenter had a deep, rich voice, but spoke steadily, and with constant hesitation.

"But who is this figure? Where does he come from, and what does he want from us?" Said the presenter. Oh, no. Not again. Jerome flipped the channel a second time. And then a third. On the screen now, it said 'Please stand by'. But it said it on every channel. He flicked through channel after channel as quickly as he could, and on _every single_ channel, 'Please stand by'. As he flicked on, an image slowly began to form behind the text. In blood red, a faint oval began to emerge, behind which two diagonal lines. The same circle with a cross he'd seen before. Jerome gasped, and lifted up his cup of tea. To his surprise, it was completely empty.

Heading to the kitchen once again, Jerome dropped his mug on the floor when he looked out of the window. It was dark again. He looked at the clock. 10 PM. Had he really just imagined the last few minutes of his life? Had he actually only been in bed for half an hour, and he was only just making his tea? Suddenly, he began to feel nauseas. He scrambled around on the table frantically for his tablets. His hand was barely an inch away from them when it fell limp. He couldn't move it at all. He tried with his other arm, to the same effect. He tried to shout for help, but his throat was too swollen. A deafening ringing filled his ears, accompanied by a voice, yelling this time: "YOU ARE NEVER ALONE. HE IS _ALWAYS_ WATCHING." The TV now had an enormous red circle with a cross on it, and the writing had changed. Instead of 'Please stand by', it now read 'You will DIE'. It was then that Jerome once again collapsed.


End file.
